Wicked: The Life and Times of Hermione Granger
by dragonallie23
Summary: Hermione has always been clever, resourceful and brave. Yet, when blood rules society, does this truly define you as wicked? According to Lavender Brown and the Minister of Magic: yes. Careful, Hermione. You never know who's truly going to be... wicked.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue Part One: No One Mourns the Wicked

It was one of those grim, cheerless nights in which the rain never seems to cease and the wind keeps up a constant tortured howl. Lighting darted about the night sky, punctuating the dark purple air with its jagged forks.

In the small, well-to-do neighborhood of Grimmauld Place, this night was no different than most to its Muggle inhabitants. Little did the residents of Number Twelve know however, that tonight was special. For it was on this stormy night Lavender Brown strode across the empty street with her chin tucked down and head bowed against the wind and rain. She held her cloak close to her body for warmth as she struggled against the rain on her short walk from the garden into the safety of Number Twelve. She jogged up the front steps and tapped once on the door with her wand. After a series of clicks the door swung open to admit her into the surprisingly bright and cheery hall.

She hung her cloak up carefully in the hallway and paused by the mirror to arrange her hair carefully. Ten years had aged her, and not too well either. Small lines worried her face and her once luxuriously soft and long blond hair was now wispy and brittle. Her fingers smoothed over the creases in the corners of her eyes. Crows feet. She smiled bitterly. How ironic was it that her old friend's Animagus form now graced her face? She had never cared for crows, even when her friend was still alive, and now they only served as a subtle reminder to her friend's peculiar habits and tastes.

She stepped back from the mirror. How did this happen? She was thirty-three years old, alone, unmarried, and wretchedly poor. Was it only eighteen years ago when she held the future in her palm? Time passed by quickly now, the grains of time slipping through her fingers and she grasped at youth. Lavender knew witches and wizards lived an abnormally long time, but her vanity was her weakness, and so it was with a heavy heart that she begrudgingly welcomed the coming of years.

The sound of laughter drifted down the hall. How odd it sounded! The pain still ebbed and flowed at her heart; she did not know how to feel or how to act. How did one grieve a friend whom they had lost a long time before their death?

Lavender followed the sound of laughter and voices to the kitchen where the Order members were gathered around the table. There was Harry, looking a bit battle-scarred and tired, at the head of the table, poring over maps and strategies with Mad-Eye Moody. To the right of the two was Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Mundungus Fletcher — the three of them chuckling over another one of 'Dung's illicit deals. Tonks was entertaining Ginny with her various faces as Fleur commented to anyone who would listen that Tonks would be far better off if she "vould stop making those reediculus faceez!"

Lavender scanned the rest of the faces — Fred, George, Neville, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Kingsley… the list went on. They were very fortunate as to not have lost too many people. Each death was for the cause, but every death meant a dear friend departing from their midst.

"Lavender!" Harry greeted her happily. "We haven't seen you in ages! What news do you bring from the far corners of the Ministry of Magic?" he teased.

Lavender pulled up a chair and plopped down tiredly in it. "Well, Hermione is dead," she told him flatly.

Harry's jaw dropped. "Hermione—dead? No!" he scoffed. "The Wicked Witch of the West couldn't possibly be…" he trailed off.

"She is as dead as Ron," Lavender assured him. "Luna saw to it yesterday; finished her off with a bucket of water. Daft girl, when I asked her what happened she said that she was only trying to put out the fire on Hermione's robes."

Harry was silent for a second then grinned from ear to ear, as if he couldn't believe this strange stroke of luck.

"Well, this calls for some celebration, then!" Fred shouted gleefully.

The sudden roar of human voices and laughter brought Lavender back to reality rather quickly. She excused herself from the room and went to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley in fetching more butter beer.

She saw that Harry, Remus, Sirius, Kingsley and many others, were gathered around the fireplace, conversing in serious tones. As she drew near, they glanced at her, and once they saw who it was, beckoned her closer.

"We were just talking about Hermione," Remus told her.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," offered Sirius, and he downed the rest of his fire whiskey.

"I expect that all of England is glad that she's finally dead," Lavender commented, forcing her tone to stay casual.

"Bloody hell got that right. We've been getting owl after owl asking us if we know anything yet, and we've just finished blocking off the Floo. People are mad for news," Sirius said.

"It's that bad?" Lavender was amazed. "All that fuss over Hermione?"

"She stepped on an awful lot of important toes, Lavender," Harry reminded her. "You remember what she was like at Hogwarts."

"You were friends with her then?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"I knew her, if that's what you mean," Lavender answered quickly.

"Tell us, what was she like? I would give anything to see her as a teenager!" Sirius laughed.

"Well, it was never easy for her," Lavender heard herself say and immediately wished that she could take it back. They didn't need to know about ithat./i She looked around at the eager and expectant faces all around her and figured, _'Oh, screw it.'_

"I mean, she was doomed from the start…"


	2. Chapter 2

Prologue Part Two: No One Mourns the Wicke

"Are you sure that you'll be okay without me, dear?" Mr. Granger asked his wife, suitcase in hand.

"Aren't you just like a man. It's a bit late for that _now_, dear. You should've asked me that three weeks ago." Mrs. Granger sighed and straightened his tie.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were your ordinary British couple. Mr. Granger was quite ordinary looking. The only really redeeming physical quality he had about him was that he had not yet begun to lose his dark hair, of which he was quite vain. He was the local dentist and a layman of a small church on the edge of town. He went out of town very often, but those who knew the couple knew that he was entirely devoted to his wife.

Mrs. Granger was a very pretty, slim woman with dark eyes, wavy light brown hair and a wide smile. She walked with a slight sway in her hips, giving her a suggestive aura at all times. She was the product of an affair between her father, a Pureblood wizard who was a member of the House of Parliament and the Wizengamot, and a gorgeous Pureblood intern working for the Minister. She was not fully welcome in the small community of Jamestown. Many of the women distrusted her and kept their husbands close to them when she would walk through town.

Not that this mattered really. Mr. and Mrs. Granger lived so far out of town that the only real connection they had to it was through Mr. Granger's volunteer work for the church. They lived in a small, two-bedroom house on the edge of a lake. The house was neat and welcoming, with the yard well swept and gardened. Mrs. Granger was a good wife to Mr. Granger and he was a good husband to her.

All was well.

"I'm off," he kissed her gently, got into the car, and drove off.

Mrs. Granger turned to walk back into the house and stopped just before the doorway.

"The wine!" She ran to the garden shed and moved the hoe and rake aside. Hidden underneath that, were two bottles of wine and a bottle of vodka.

"Bloody wanker doesn't believe in alcohol. Humph!" She stalked back to the house, with the bottles swinging carelessly in her hands. She placed them in the freezer to chill before running around the house and slamming the window shut and closing the blinds. She sauntered upstairs and sat down at the small vanity table in the bedroom she shared with her husband.

Mrs. Granger proceeded to brush her hair in quick neat strokes until her curls shone and bounced when she turned her head. She rimmed her eyes with eyeliner and after applying a little bit of blush to her cheeks, surveyed herself in the mirror. _'Look at me,' _she thought, a bit disgusted. _'Primping myself for a night alone! No one but me…and a few of those bottles of wine.' _She got up from the vanity and went to her closet. She reached into its far corners and found a shallow box. She opened it and pulled out the soft silky folds of material and held it out in front of her. Mrs. Granger put on the slinky nightdress, which she hadn't worn since her marriage to Mr. Granger three years ago, and admired herself in front of the mirror. Maybe it was a good thing that they hadn't had any children. She was still slim—maybe not as slim as she had been before they had married, but that was only to be expected since she really hadn't needed to look her best ever since she married. Her skin was still smooth and soft, and she didn't have any cellulite in places that could be a bit embarrassing if George had had any notion of… she blushed. George _hadn't_ any notion. '_For quite some time now, actually,'_ she reflected. It would be quite discomforting if she hadn't been just as disinterested at times. To be frank, he was rather horrible at it. It was like making love with a greedy sixteen-year-old boy.

She tore her gaze away from the mirror and walked back down to the kitchen. She took out the wine she had stored in the fridge and poured herself a glass. She perched herself on the stool at the kitchen island and took small sips, savoring every taste.

Three hours later, she was curled up on the settee with her favorite romance novel and a quart of chocolate ice cream. Darkness was just beginning to settle in, but the sun was still barely visible in the horizon. The bell rang, startling her from her book. She frowned and walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was a traveling salesman. He looked a little worse for wear—his coat was a little patched and dirty and he looked thoroughly woe-bygone.

Her heart went out to him and she opened up the door.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked him.

The man seemed to be lost for words. His mouth hung open slightly and she was about to snap at him and shut the door in his face when she realized that she was still only wearing the nightgown. She giggled drunkenly and tugged at his sleeve.

"Come in! I'm so sorry, but we can't have the neighbors seeing me like this!"

What he really wanted to ask was, 'What neighbors?' But she dragged him into the house so fast he barely had enough time to pick up his suitcase.

She led him into the living room and pulled out a chair for him, while she perched herself on the sofa with her legs folded underneath her.

"You're a traveling salesman, right? So, sell me something! I'm drunk, or nearly there at least, and I'm rather bored. You'd better do a good job!" she teased.

"Oh, um, right." He cleared his throat nervously.

Was there sweat on his forehead because the house was too hot? Mrs. Granger couldn't tell.

"Well, my name is Rufus and I was wondering if you would be interested in some of our luxury items…" he trailed off.

"Elaine," she supplied.

"Elaine," he repeated.

"Can I get you some wine?" she asked, rising from the couch and pouring him a glass before he could answer. She tried to sway her hips the best she could on her way to his chair, but the copious amounts of wine she had consumed earlier that day were making that particular task very difficult.

Rufus was not ugly, not ugly at all. In fact, he was rather handsome with an endearing scruffy quality to him. And she was very, very attracted to him.

When she got to his chair she stumbled a little and put a hand on his chest to steady herself. She was nearly straddling him and when she looked up into his eyes, she knew that Rufus would be staying for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Why do you have to leave now, of all days?" Elaine whined from her place in front of the toilet.

"That Sibyll woman needs a firm talking to. The best place for her would be a mental hospital, but as long we can stop her from spreading her absurd prophecies, that'll have to do." George wiped the rest of his shaving cream from his face and ran his fingers through his hair to neaten it up.

"Fine. Of course I can see how some crazy Seer is more important than the birth of your child," she snapped.

"Darling, we don't even know if it's going to be born today," George reminded her gently.

"Today is the day," she said stubbornly. "I can feel it."

"I'll call Frank and have his wife and daughter come over here to look over you. Will that satisfy you?"

"Great, I get to have the preacher's wife and daughter witness my blasphemies as I curse you to hell for doing this to me and abandoning me on the day of our child's birth," she muttered. Of course that wasn't all true…the child was _definitely_ not George's. But as long as he believed that he was the reason she was bigger than a house, she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

The doorbell rang downstairs and Elaine waddled down unhappily to greet Mrs. Jackson and her daughter. Thankfully, the preacher's wife and daughter were as addicted to the telly as Elaine had become over the course of her pregnancy, and the three settled down without any complaint to watch.

Around twelve o'clock, Elaine drifted off into an uneasy nightmarish sleep, only to be woken up by sharp pains.

"OOWWWW!" she howled. Her screech jolted Mrs. Jackson and Jane, her daughter, out of their sort of trance.

"What is it, Elaine?" Mrs. Jackson asked, with as much concern in her voice as she could muster.

"It's coming," Elaine gasped, her face white.

Jane's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets. "Today? Oh God, oh God, oh God! It's not supposed to be due until next week!"

"Jane! Bring the car around!" Mrs. Jackson ordered. She laid Elaine down on the couch and rushed to kitchen for a wet cloth. As Jane rushed out the door, Mrs. Jackson began dabbing her forehead.

Jane and her mother managed to load Elaine into the car somehow and they sped off for the nearest hospital. Halfway there, Elaine cried out, "IT'S COMING!"

Jane spun the car over to the side of the road and opened the car doors. Her mother was already in the backseat of the car, holding Elaine's hand and coaching her through the contractions.

"Jane," her mother gasped. "Run to that farmhouse and ask for a pot of clean water, bandages, a knife, a blanket, a garbage bag, and some ibuprofen!"

Jane sprinted to the farmhouse as fast as could and came back in a matter of minutes with all of the equipment and the farmer's wife.

"Mum, this lady—she's a midwife. She can help," she wheezed through heavy breaths.

The midwife, who was not even winded from the sprint from the farmhouse, was a rather dazed looking woman with big glasses that magnified her eyes so much, she looked like a bug. Thankfully, she had had much experience and with her help, Elaine delivered her child—a healthy baby girl.

"What are you planning on naming her?" the midwife asked, wiping her hands of the blood.

"Hermione," Elaine muttered distractedly. The child in her arms felt weird, unnatural almost. She wanted to get rid of it, but no sooner as the thought had entered her mind, she brushed it aside. She wasn't going to get rid of her Hermione. No matter how much trouble this child was going to be worth. The child looked like her and Rufus through and through, with her already thick baby hair and big brown eyes. She didn't know how she was going to explain this one to George…

"What is your name?" Elaine asked the midwife. She felt someone take the baby from her arms and another person prop a pillow under her head.

"…Trelawney…"

And that was all Elaine heard before she passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

Prologue Part Three: No One Mourns the Wicke

George was gone for day again. _'He's always gone,'_ reflected Elaine. It made cheating on him all too easy. Last week there was the rather handsome deliveryman and the week before that it was the milkman. Both were your basic blue-collared young men just starting out in the world. Neither of them had had any real chance once she had sashayed towards them.

"So young and naive…" sighed Elaine. She needed a real challenge now. The now and again shag wasn't nearly enough. She wanted something that would shake up her life a little. After six years of marriage and the last three with a child, she thought that she deserved some excitement.

Hermione was a little terror. She would refuse to play with any of the other children and would bite people when things didn't go her way. She wouldn't settle down and watch television or do any of the normal things children would do. All day long she would sit in George's study against the wall looking a book and occasionally turning its pages. It was quite disconcerting to Elaine, who already had enough trouble relating to her daughter.

The doorbell rang and Elaine perked up hopefully. Maybe it was the milkman back for another go… She opened the door instead to the most gorgeous male creature she had ever seen.

He was about six feet tall, with adorably shaggy brown hair that was streaked with grey. His amber eyes were wolfish and _wild_, peeking out from underneath thick lashes. The stranger's face was marked with worry lines that just seemed to scream with a dangerous man with a story to tell. In a word—irresistible.

"Hello, ma'am. I was wondering if you could please spare a glass of water? I've been walking for a long time and all I require is to sit on the steps. I promise I won't do—"

Elaine cut off his well-practiced pleading. "Nonsense! Come on in!" She ushered him inside and brought his suitcase inside for him.

"Where are you headed towards?" she asked as she got him a glass of water.

"St. Bees, ma'am," he said. He stood in the middle of the living room with his legs spread apart and hands behind his back.

"Please sit, and please, call me Elaine." She guided him towards the couch and sat next to him, close enough to make him alert, but not too close to make him uncomfortable.

"But that's so far away!" she continued. "That's a two day drive! And you're walking there? May I ask why—oh I'm sorry, I've never asked your name!"

"My name is Remus Lupin," he extended his hand and they shook. Instead of letting go of his hand however, she flipped it over and traced a gash on the palm of his hand. She peered closer at the cut and saw it: a small trace of blue healing potion spread near the edges.

"Remus, would you mind if I mended this for you? Your healing potion doesn't seem as if it's doing that much good…" she trailed off as she inspected the wound further. She felt him stiffen under her gentle grasp.

"Healing potion?" his voice nearly cracked.

"Yes, Remus. I'm a decent enough witch, you know," Elaine told him.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he exhaled. "Well then, I guess you know why I'm moving to St. Bees then: the new registration laws." He winced as she moved her wand over the gash.

"You're a werewolf?" she queried.

"Yes," he said a bit apprehensively. "Don't worry I'll be out of here if you—"

"My cousin was a werewolf," she told him. "Very nice chap. You don't have to worry, I'm not the least bit prejudiced."

"Oh." His voice was soft and wondering. "Is that your daughter?" he jerked his head in Hermione's direction; she had come out from the study to observe this new visitor.

"Yes," Elaine sighed as she put the finishing touches on Remus' wound. "Her name is Hermione. Let me know if she bites you, we're trying to get her to stop doing that."

Hermione toddled over to Remus and put her hand on his knee and used it to steady herself as she looked up into his eyes. Elaine couldn't believe what happened next: Hermione raised her arms up to Remus, who scooped her up and cuddled her close to him.

Elaine had to push her jaw up from shock. Her mind formulated a new plan quickly. She _had_ to get Remus to stay with them, for her and Hermione's sakes. George wouldn't object—he loved charity cases and what better charity case was there? Werewolves were lower than dirt nowadays, and because of the new laws they had two options, go live with the all-werewolf community on the outskirts of St. Bees, or stay with a family who could vouch for him. St. Bees was an awful place and it was so far away, surely he would want to stay here?

"Remus, you are surely remarkable," Elaine began slowly. "I've never seen Hermione take to someone like that. She would have rather starved than let me pick her up to feed her."

"She seems so sweet. Your husband must love her." He looked up at her with accusing eyes. She gulped. So she wasn't the only one who had been thinking about _that_.

"No, he doesn't," she said flatly. "He refuses to have anything to do with me or Hermione nowadays. He blames me for how she's turned out." She smiled bitterly. "George comes home once or twice a week now."

"But he has nothing to do with what I want to ask you. Remus, I know that laws and I know that you can either live with a Wizarding family or at St. Bees. I want you to stay here." Elaine raised her chin defiantly. "I don't care what George thinks, or says, I want you to stay with us, Hermione and I. I already see how much we need you. How much I want you. Please, Remus, we've just met but I feel like we can be happy again if you would just…stay."

"I'm poor, I'm dangerous, and I've been shunned so often I've forgotten what it's like to be a friend. What could I possibly offer you?" he protested. "The offer you make is so generous, and I would very so much like to accept it, but Elaine…" He set Hermione back on the floor and she wobbled back to the study. He spread his arms out wide. "I have nothing except for the clothes on my back and the books in that bag."

"It doesn't matter. You can help me look after Hermione; she needs a father figure in her life. And God knows what a waste I am at motherhood." She smirked, "I'm better at making them, then looking after them, if you know what I mean."

He blushed, as she had hoped he would and she moved closer to him. She tentatively raised her hand to his face and traced one of the thin scars there. He turned his face towards her, questions rising and dying on his lips before they could come forth.

Elaine raised her other hand up to his face, so she was cupping his face in her hands. Slowly, so not to scare him, she cautiously brought her lips to his. He welcomed the kiss, and so she made to deepen it. This simple act seemed to bring him over the edge. Elaine was always told that she made men go crazy and Remus was no exception. He flipped her over on the couch, so she was trapped underneath him and kissed her forcefully and firmly.

Elaine knew then that Remus would be there to stay.

* * *

The sun was hot overhead and the mention of ice cream made Elaine's mouth water, so she agreed to watch Hermione for an hour as Remus went to the store. Hermione had become so accustomed to Remus that she was extremely unhappy with this turn of events and was very cross with her mother. Elaine was unhappy also. She was pregnant again, and like last time, the baby was not George's.

George had been extremely welcoming to Remus, and being the blind idiot he was, had no qualms with letting Remus and Elaine live alone. Together. With no chaperones. Needless to say, he made it ridiculously easy for them to carry on their affair behind his back. At least this time, Elaine was one hundred percent sure that the baby was Remus'. She had found out within two days since the conception (she took these tests almost every day so she could know when she should "do it" with George to keep him from becoming suspicious that the child was not his) and because she hadn't been with George two days ago, it had to be Remus.

Elaine was glad that the child was Remus'. She loved Remus with all her heart. Remus was everything George wasn't—a great lover who was sensitive to her needs; a father who loved Hermione, who wasn't even his child, without abandon; and a man who was always there for her. Elaine knew that this wasn't fair to George, but personally, she felt that he wasn't being very fair to her. Ever since George had found out she was a witch sometime after the honeymoon, he had become distant. Elaine thought that he must feel as if he had been cheated. He had married what he had thought was his dream girl—Elaine was gorgeous, religious, kind, and funny. He thought that they would never fight, have tons of children and she would live happily ever after in a small English town.

But in his quest for his perfect life, he had forgotten about Elaine's hopes and dreams. Elaine didn't want to live her life as a church wife—she was a highly ambitious and intelligent witch. She skipped church on Sundays, she was unfriendly to the women in the town, and her jokes were sometimes cruel and bitter. The fact that she was a witch made her the worst sin of all, something that she highly suspected George felt bitter about it. They had almost gotten their marriage annulled after she had told him, but they managed to make a compromise. George would be accepting, as long as she lived according to _his_ lifestyle. That meant moving from London to Jamestown, giving up her job at the Ministry of Magic to become a housewife, and substitute Poker night for Bingo night at the church.

_'Almost silly, how far I've fallen,' _she thought as she watched Hermione play on the lakeshore. _'I've gone from London socialite to a suppressed house-wife having an affair with a werewolf!' _She wanted to howl with laughter at the thought, but she was wary of disrupting Hermione. She had just calmed her down and Hermione looked almost like a normal child playing out in the sand. Thankfully, she had already picked up a bit of a color. She was becoming too pasty from spending all those hours in the study.

She sighed and got up from the sandy towel she was sitting on. She should probably play with Hermione for a while. Get her used to her own mother again. Elaine walked down slowly to where Hermione was sitting, not wishing to startle her. Hermione glanced up at Elaine as she approached. _'She is a very intelligent three-year-old' _Elaine thought as she sat down next to Hermione. Hermione had needed almost no instruction growing up, other than in the manners category. Elaine had only to show her a few times that she should use the small toilet to do her business in rather than her diaper before Hermione had caught on. Remus had confided in her that he thought that Hermione had taught herself how to read. But if she had, they had no idea of knowing because Hermione refused to talk.

Hermione stopped building her sandcastle and pointed to the small rowboat shored some meters away.

"You want to go out?" Elaine asked. Hermione nodded and Mrs. Granger scooped her up and carried her on her hip. To her relief, Hermione did not protest or bite her the entire way there. She put Hermione on the floor of the rowboat and hiked her skirt up to her knees. Grunting, she pushed the rowboat into the water and heaved her very pregnant self into the boat once it was afloat.

"Right, now, Hermione. Let's see, mummy's got to find a way to row this thing." Elaine looked around for some paddles and spotted some on the floor of the boat. She put the oars in the water and began to row the boat out into the middle of the lake. When she thought that they had gone far enough, she put down the oars and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Hermione was looking over the edge of the boat curiously. She was leaning so far out that Elaine had to shift her weight to the other side to keep the boat even.

Elaine was enjoying the serenity of their surroundings, when Hermione suddenly lurched forward and fell into the water. Terror seized her heart. What would Remus say when she had to bring back Hermione's small body… No. She mustn't think that.

She had to think fast. She couldn't swim—she was too pregnant and she wasn't a good swimmer to start with. She rushed over to Hermione's side of the boat and almost tipped it over. Elaine reached in with one arm and miraculously managed to pull Hermione out of the water.

She wasn't breathing. Hermione panicked. Not caring whether or not anyone saw them, she whipped out her wand and the boat sped to shore within seconds. With Hermione in her arms, she ran to the house and placed her on top of the kitchen counter. After trying several times unsuccessfully to wake her, Hermione dug through her potions cabinet and pulled out a small blue bottle labeled "Miracle Elixir."

Elaine nearly shoved the bottle down her throat, and it wasn't until Hermione started crying that she let the child stop drinking it. Remus rushed in right as she regained consciousness, and a teary-eyed Elaine had to explain to him what had happened to his precious child. Remus' lips tightened at her carelessness, but he said nothing about her poor parenting skills and instead he made them dinner. They all curled up in Hermione's bedroom on her bed. Elaine read Hermione's favorite stories aloud as the three of them snuggled together and ate.

Hermione fell asleep quickly. As Remus tucked her in, Elaine watched from the doorway and thought, _'This is how it should be.'_

* * *

"Push, God damn it, Elaine!"

Elaine was suffering through her second childbirth. Unlike the last time, she was in a hospital and she had a lover's hand to hold. But like last time, the child was not George's, and George was not there.

"I'm pushing!" she snapped. "Don't tell me how to have this baby, Remus John Lupin!"

He wisely shut up after that.

The baby was finally born after many hours of complications and fancy words that Elaine was too tired to comprehend. What she did know, is that she had delivered a perfectly healthy little girl whom she named Rose.

"This is life, Remus," she whispered happily in her lover's ear as they nestled together on the hospital bed. "Congratulations, you're a father."

"Really?" he murmured happily. "I can't believe it. I don't mean it like that—I trust that the baby is mine, but she's such a miracle. She's our little miracle." He traced her cheek with his pinkie and Rose yawned.

"I never thought that I would be a father one day," he confided in Elaine. "I'm too poor, too old, too dangerous. And even though what we have isn't normal, I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world."

"I wouldn't either," she whispered and kissed him softly. The three of them fell asleep in bliss.

* * *

"Hermione, put your books in that box there, okay?" Mrs. Granger instructed her. They were busy packing for their relocation from the town of Jamesville to the werewolf community of St. Bees. The move had been George's idea. He had taken Remus' plight so seriously that he considered it his personal duty to "save" all the poor werewolves wallowing in poverty. So, he had decided to move the family over there. Remus and Elaine had hated the idea at first, but after Rose's accident, they had decided that a change of scenery would be good for Rose, who was still terrified of cars.

Hermione was rather indifferent to the move. She cared only about the well being of Rose. She was a rather serious child of nine years. The birth of her sister had calmed her down quite a bit and she made huge advancements into becoming "normal" but she was still wary of all strangers and had a tendency to hide or lash out those who did not know her that well. She was also absolutely terrified of water. Elaine had to scrub her down with baby oil and perform the _Scourgify_ charm on her in order to bathe her. She could stand water in small amounts, but any amount bigger than what was required to fill a pot was a challenge. Elaine and Remus had consulted with a Healer who had told them that the bottle of miracle tonic was to blame, but there wasn't anything else they could've done to save her.

But it was good that Hermione was so attached to Rose, for Rose needed the help. When she was six years old, Rose had been in a car accident and lost the use of her legs. Remus had been devastated, but they had pulled through it, and now the sight of Rose pushing herself along in her chair was as common as Hermione screaming in fear of a puddle.

Elaine stopped carting boxes to the car and tied her hair up into a ponytail. George had gone ahead earlier that day to tidy the house and move the furniture in. Hopefully, no one had robbed or killed him yet. The stupid prick was so ignorant of the poverty and violence that went on in St. Bees. Elaine was terrified. What if Hermione or Rose, her precious Rose, were killed?

Finally, everything was packed up into the truck and the Granger family left everything and everyone they knew behind.

* * *

The best way to describe their new home was, "fixer-upper." It was little more than four walls and a roof, truthfully. It was raining horribly when they arrived and Elaine had to spend ten uncomfortable minutes with Hermione in the car, getting her so bundled up that the child couldn't see out from all of her wrappings. They hurried her inside only to find that the rain wasn't any better inside. It leaked from almost every point of the house imaginable.

Remus sighed and trudged back out into the mud and rain to go help George patch up the roof. Elaine found a dry spot in the empty house for Hermione and Rose and deposited them there with some books, stuffed animals, and a few building blocks to keep them occupied.

Once outside, Elaine performed some water repelling charms in the air so that there was a bubble of air that stretched from the front door to the moving truck. A few levitation charms brought all the furniture inside the house, which had finally stopped leaking. Remus came in and rubbed his chilled hands together.

"Nothing a few handy-man Charms couldn't fix," he told Elaine and kissed her on the head. "George is at the neighbor's house helping him patch up their roof at the moment. I expect he'll be gone all night," he suggested with a mischievous smile.

"It's going to take him forever to do it without magic," Elaine chuckled gleefully and stepped closer to Remus. His arms snaked around her waist she smiled in pleasure as he kissed down her neck.

George would never know.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter One: Dear Old Shiz

_Ozian (male):_

_(spoken)_

_Glinda! Is it true - were you her friend?!_

_GLINDA:_

_(spoken)_

_Well - it depends on what you mean by "friend." I did_

_know her. That is, our paths did cross. At school:_

_STUDENTS:_

_O hallowed halls and vine-draped walls_

_The proudliest sight there is (Male: Sight there is)_

_When grey and sere our hair hath turned_

_We shall still revere the lessons learned_

_(Females)In our days at dear old Shiz (Males: dear old Shiz)_

_Our days at dear old_

_GALINDA:_

_Oh-oh-oh-oh-ol:_

_STUDENTS AND GALINDA:_

_Dear old Shiz-zzzz_

Lavender Brown closed her trunk carefully and levitated it back up to the rack. The Levitation charm had been one of the first things she had mastered this morning. She had arrived at ten o'clock, in order to get the best compartment on the train of course, but also to practice magic. The Browns always strived to be ahead of the curves and Lavender fully intended to live up to the family legacy.

Lavender pulled out a mirror from her purse and surveyed herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair was curled to perfection, her skin clear, her make-up perfectly applied. Perfect. She snapped the mirror shut and put it away neatly in her purse.

The compartment door slid open and a fat man who resembled a walrus appeared in the doorway.

"My, my! Looks like the Slug Club compartment already has an occupant," he chuckled. He had a thick mustache, a very red face, and he was enormously fat.

"Oh, this is your compartment?" Lavender mustered her most unaffected air.

"Why yes, my dear. I am Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin and the Potions Master at Hogwarts. And what's your name? You must be a first-year."

"I'm Lavender Brown." She extended a manicured hand for him to shake.

"Well, Ms. Brown, you wouldn't mind sharing the compartment with us?"

"I suppose not," she sighed and readied herself to return her attention to the magazine.

What happened next almost gave her a heart attack.

Slughorn had whipped out his wand and did an elaborate wave. The compartment grew to ten times its original size. Students began to pile into the compartment and before she knew it, lunch had been served and she had ended sitting right next to the horrid old man.

"So, Lavender, what house do you think that you will be in?" he asked her while he tucked into a pheasant leg that Lavender thought he really didn't need.

"Gryffindor, of course," she said. She flipped her hair back and took a dainty bite of her finger sandwich. "It's the best out of all the houses."

"Oh ho! You really think so? You might want to change your answer!"

She gave him a rather patronizing smile. "I'm sure."

"Well, I can't begrudge your preference I guess! I am the Head of Slytherin though, you know."

"I know. You told me already." She patted her mouth free of crumbs.

Slughorn studied her intensely for a minute. "You look like an intelligent and well educated girl. Please, tell me, what are your views on the new set of Restrictions being placed on Half-bloods and Muggle-borns?"

"I have no view. They don't affect me at all," Lavender said, rather cruelly.

The professor looked shocked. "But, they affect those around you! Have you no sympathy?"

"I know no Muggle-borns and very few half-bloods," Lavender told him primly.

"Ms. Brown," he said, all the more urgently, i"I/i am a Half-blood! What about me? Should I be barred from teaching here?"

"You are still here," Lavender remarked dryly.

"But many of my colleagues from other schools are not! I may be next!"

"How frightening for you," Lavender said primly and bit into her sandwich.

"Have you no compassion for others, Ms. Brown?" Professor Slughorn asked, flabbergasted.

"I am very concerned!" Lavender was offended. "These new laws could hurt the economy greatly!"

Professor Slughorn leaned back in his chair and fixed her with a stare. He was obviously a man who had fallen on hard times. His stomach, while still rotund, looked somehow lacking and the lines on his face looked worried and affronted. He was clearly a man who was used to having everything his way and was now faced with the harsh reality of a new order. If Lavender had been somewhat intelligent, she would have noticed this, but being shallow-headed as she was, all this escaped her notice as she sat in relative comfort in the compartment, happy with the bubble of life that surrounded her.

* * *

Hermione looked up at the toad-like woman, with a look of incredulity.

"I'm afraid that I can't do that, ma'am," she said calmly. She knew these types. They had to be handled carefully less they explode, spreading their sickly sweet poison all over you.

"And I'm afraid that you don't understand me," the woman said back. "I'm a professor here, and you're going to do as I say."

"Where's Professor McGonagall, Professor Umbridge?" Hermione demanded. "She'll settle this. She knows."

"Just give it to me!" Professor Umbridge snapped.

"No!" Hermione's hand covered the offending charm protectively. It was a silver charm hammered into the shape of a wolf howling a crescent moon and for some reason, it was offending the toady teacher.

"Ms. Granger!" Professor Umbridge said warning.

"Is there a problem here?" Professor McGonagall asked. She appeared rather frazzled, the source of her frustration hot on her heels. A petite, blonde girl, her mouth open in silent protest, kept tugging at her sleeves and impeding her progress towards the bickering teacher and student.

"Ms. Granger here is refusing to remove her _vulgar, highly inappropriate_ necklace," Umbridge simpered. She slapped away Hermione's fingers and grabbed her charm necklace and dragged her over to the Headmistress.

The blonde girl raised her eyebrows condescendingly and sniffed. "Pretty."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows knitted together in frustration and anger. "And what, pray tell me, is wrong with this charm?"

"That's a _werewolf_," Professor Umbridge stated blandly as if Professor McGonagall was simple.

"I see that," she said tartly. "But I also see nothing wrong with it. So, if you would please release Ms. Granger—"

"She's just promoting filthy ideals! She'll pollute the school with her half-breed friendly mind-set!" Professor Umbridge snarled.

"And you are polluting it with your closed-minded prejudice." Professor McGonagall smiled patronizingly. "Are we done, here, Dolores?"

Umbridge's pudgy fingers slowly relinquished their hold on the necklace and Hermione backed up a few paces from the crazed teacher.

"Very well," she sneered. "I'll escort the little half-blood to the Great Hall."

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened at the insult directed at Hermione, but Hermione ignored it and stood listless and bored.

"Take Ms. Brown with you," she said briskly.

"But, Professor—" Lavender protested.

"Not another word out of you, Ms. Brown!" McGonagall snapped. She turned on her heel and quickly left the scene before things started to heat up again.

The three walked to the hall in total silence for a while before Lavender asked, "Are you really a half-blood?"

"Yes. Why?" Hermione's chin went up defiantly.

"Oh."

The word dripped with distain.

When they reached the Great Hall, they joined the huddle of first years waiting to enter and be sorted. Lavender quickly joined a group of gossiping girls, but Hermione stood on the sidelines talking to no one and looking generally unfriendly.

"Look at her clothes!" Parvati, a very pretty brunette with Indian heritage and piercing eyes, whispered meanly. "They look like she got them out of a second-hand shop!"

"She probably did," Parvati's twin, Padma, whispered. She was identical to Parvati in every way, and the two were only distinguishable by their hair barrettes that kept their plaits neat.

"Her hair makes me want to donate it to poor family of rats who needs a home," Lavender said in an undertone and the others giggled.

"She's like the anti-girl," she continued. "And she's a half-blood. It's like she wants to be this weird!"

"She's a half-blood?" the Parvati gasped.

"I know," Lavender said cruelly. She motioned and all the girls leaned in to hear what juicy piece of gossip she was going to drop next. "Does the name, "Malfoy" sound familiar to you?"

Padma, Parvati and two other girls, Elizabeth Seton and Audrey Hoxton inhaled sharply.

"No…" a petite red haired girl said disbelievingly.

"Her mother was the Pureblood slut of the family. No morals or family values whatsoever, apparently," Lavender continued. "She ran away from her family to marry a _Muggle_ and had _her_. That's not even all of it—her mother was next in line to inherit and she still is! And if Mrs. Malfoy—Granger now I guess—dies, then that little half-blood thing inherits it all!"

The other girls shared looks of disgust and outrage. "That _thing_ is going to inherit the largest fortune in England?" Pansy Parkinson spat.

"First years, please get in a line!" Professor McGonagall was back. The girls stopped their conversation and lined up, only pausing to glare at Hermione, who cowered beneath their sudden hatred and slunk to the end of the line.

The Sorting went very quickly and the feast even more so. The whole ordeal bored Lavender to no end, so when the boring Prefect with the awful fashion sense led Lavender to her dorm Lavender went gladly.

Lavender thought that it was rather odd that her room had five beds but ignored it and plopped onto her bed. She took out her diary which she took e everywhere with her and started a new list.

_People I Know_

_Gryffindor:_

_Parvati Patil. We're going to be best friends. I, of course, will be the more popular one, but she really doesn't have a say in that._

_Elizabeth Seton. Nice enough, but not as pretty as Parvati and I, and not nearly as smart. The girl should know that pink socks are last season._

_Audrey Hoxton. Rich, but dull. She should be useful when we go to Hogsmeade._

_Hermione Granger._

A knock at her door cut her off.

"This isn't you're your room, Lavender!" a sharp voice called out.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lavender called back lazily.

"It's a dormitory, dim wit. We need somewhere to sleep too!"

"Well then, you should've had your daddy pay for your private room also," Lavender yelled back, miffed. It had to be Hermione yelling at her. None of the other girls would've dared to defy her.

"It's not a private room! There's no such thing!"

"Yes, there is!" Lavender shouted. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed!"

"Let us in!"

"No!"

"FINE!"

Lavender put her journal on the nightstand and was about to unbutton her blouse when there was huge bang and the door burst open and fell down the ground. On the other side, Hermione stood with her wand up. The other girls looked scandalized behind her.

"How dare you!" Lavender shrieked. "This is MY room!"

She grabbed her wand off the nightstand and pointed it at Hermione. The wand went off with a similar bang and Hermione went flying. Lavender looked down in surprise, but then brushed it away. Of course she was a natural! She was a Brown!

"Go away, ugly, before I kick your butt," Lavender commanded. "This room is a weirdo-free zone."

"If you want to play it that way, fine," Hermione laughed. She aimed her wand at Lavender and yelled, _"Confringo_!"

It was Lavender's turn to hit the wall. After picking herself off the ground she copied Hermione's wand movement and shouted the blasting spell right back at her.

Hermione dodged it and the spell broke off a part of the doorframe instead. The girls screamed and ran for the common room.

Hermione just screamed in retaliation and an unnamed spell burst out of her wand and hit Lavender straight in the face. Her face turned motley brown and pink that made Hermione burst into a fit of giggles just to look at. This infuriated Lavender even more and they the two let go into a wild battle of unlearned magic. Sparks flew everywhere and chips of wood and stone flew with each missed curse.

The two girls had by then almost ditched their wands and gone for physical combat when Professor Umbridge burst into the room and cast a _Protego_ between the two of them.

"Now, girls," she simpered. "What seems to be the problem now?"

"She broke into my room!" Lavender accused.

"This is the girls' dormitory, Ms. Brown." Even Professor Umbridge seemed taken aback.

"No, it's _my_ room," Lavender whined.

"Ms. Brown, this is a shared dormitory. There are no private rooms at Hogwarts, I can assure you."

"Shared?" Lavender's voice rose several octaves. "But I've never shared a room before!"

"Well you do now," Professor Umbridge said rather cruelly.

Professor McGonagall strode into the room with Elizabeth, Parvati and Audrey trailing behind her.

"What is going on here?" Professor McGonagall drew herself up to her full height.

Lavender was quick to blame Hermione. "She started it!" She pointed an accusing finger at the offending female.

"The dimwit thought that the girls' dormitory was for her own, sole, selfish use!" Hermione protested. "Some of us would prefer to sleep elsewhere than the common room couch! But I suppose it's not really her fault," she paused to fix a look of mock sympathy on her face. "Such selfishness is only to be expected of the rich and spoiled blonde Purebloods of the world."

Lavender was at Hermione's side as quick as a flash and with her face purple with rage—and brown and pink also, the spell hadn't worn off yet—slapped Hermione clear across the face.

Hermione gasped in outrage before pulling back and giving Lavender a black one in the eye.

"ENOUGH!" Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Umbridge were shocked and outraged.

"Dolores, clean up this mess and get the girls into bed. You two, with me." Professor McGonagall strode out of the girls' dormitory so fast Lavender and Hermione had to run in order to keep up with her.

The fire in the common room was dying down, but with a flick of her wand, McGonagall restored it to life again.

"I have never seen such immature and inappropriate behavior from two girls such as yourselves in my life," she began, her eyes blazing. "It sickens me to my very core to see two Gryffindors in such discord on the very first day of term! This ishall not/i be tolerated. We are Gryffindors and we are strong because we work together. As a _team_." Lavender and Hermione had the grace at least to look ashamed and apologetic before going back to staring at the floor again.

"I can't force you two to get along with each other, but I can make you learn to," she said sternly. "Until you can settle this, this _shameful_ feud you two have going on between you, you are henceforth _banished_ from the girls' dormitories." Lavender gave a small cry of dismay before starting to quietly sob into her hands. "You are not allowed to sleep there, change there, or have any kind of permanent fixture there."

"But where will we sleep?" Lavender cried.

"In here." McGonagall walked over to a painting in the corner and tapped it once. It immediately sprang to life and the occupants began bickering. Looking closer, Hermione could see a sturdily built irate looking woman was bickering with her portrait mate.

"LOOK HERE, IRIS!" The irate looking woman screamed. "I'll have none of that nonsense! Did you, or did you not sleep with Tom McKinnon from down the hall?"

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BLEEDIN' BUSINESS, JANE!" Iris screeched right back. She was rather pretty and seductive looking— but if she was put in the context of the real world, Hermione had no doubt in her mind that the lady would definitely be mistaken for a prostitute. Her dress was extremely low cut and her face heavily done; she was a stark contrast to the plain Jane across from her. Jane was handsome in her own way. Her face was honest, but scheming.

"Girls, meet your monitors." McGonagall's voice cut above the din. "Their reconciliation depends on yours. When the monitors have truly stopped fighting, you will be allowed back into the girls' dormitories."

"So, you're saying, that as long as we fight, they will too?" Hermione queried.

"Yes, exactly right."

"That's brilliant," she breathed. She stepped up to the portrait and skimmed the canvas with her fingers. "Absolutely fantastic… who designed this?"

Professor McGonagall looked taken aback. She had been expecting protests and crying, not this complete fascination from Hermione. "I'm—I'm not sure."

"That's a shame. They must have been a brilliant painter and Charms worker," Hermione commented. "So, how do we get in, Professor?"

"There will be a password in the form of a question every time you wish to access the room. Like this." McGonagall stepped up to the portrait.

"I wish to enter," she said.

"Alright then," Iris said, and the two ceased their bickering for a moment.

"See if you can solve this one: it is greater than God and more evil than the devil. The poor have it, the rich need it and if you eat it you'll die. What is it?"

Lavender's mouth fell open in shock. "But it's so _hard_!

"Nonsense, I think it's quite simple really," Hermione said and she answered the portrait.

"Nothing. Nothing is greater than God, nothing is more evil than the devil, the poor have nothing, the rich need nothing and if you eat nothing you'll die."

"Correct," said Jane and the portrait swung open to admit them.

"Very good, Ms. Granger," Professor McGonagall said impressed.

"But what about me?" Lavender whined. "I'm absolute rubbish at all that logic stuff."

"Then I suggest that you learn fast," Professor McGonagall said tartly. "Or you may find yourself more dependant on Ms. Granger than you'd like. And after your horrendous behavior towards her, I'm not sure that she might be feeling all that generous."

McGonagall let the words sink into an already horrified Lavender before continuing.

"It's eleven o'clock now, I suggest that you ladies prepare yourselves for bed immediately if you want to be fresh for your classes tomorrow morning." And without further ado, she left the Gryffindor common room.

"Don't even think about talking to me right now," Lavender snarled. "This is all your fault!"

"It's your idiocy that got us here in the first place," Hermione countered. "Stupid blonde."

"Ignorant half-blood!"

"Petty princess!"

The two of them stood glaring at each other for a minute before Hermione pushed past Lavender.

"Let's just see the bloody room."

The room was decorated similarly to the girls' dormitory. It was the same size and shape, but instead of five four-poster beds, there were two larger ones and only two windows. It was slightly more luxurious and newer than the girls' dormitory however. The beds were bigger and less worn down, the floor was shiny, new and unscratched, and everything was either dark hardwood or red and gold.

"I suppose that this is the consolation prize," Hermione said dully.

"Not too much of a consolation if you ask me," Lavender said.

"I didn't." Hermione plopped down on the bed further away from the portrait door, which looked like a normal door from the inside of the room. "I want this one."

"And I want this one."

"Finally, something we can agree on," Hermione moaned. She fell back onto her bed.

"Listen, we can figure out a way to tolerate each other later. Right now, I need some beauty rest." Lavender pulled out her compact to inspect her face. She screamed in horror.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"What? You don't like it?" Hermione asked innocently.

"What spell did you use?" Lavender was horrified.

"I don't really know, actually. I saw my mother use it on our neighbor one day. I didn't actually hear the incantation, I just saw what it did."

"And what does it do, other than turn my face different colors?" Lavender shrieked.

"It hexes your face the color that you're feeling at the moment," Hermione told her. "From the brown, red and purple I would say that you were feeling very violent, angry, and hurt when I hexed you. Ah! And look! Now you're turning green and scarlet! That's envy and rage, I believe," she said nonchalantly.

"I hate you," Lavender seethed.

"Imagine how embarrassing it will be for you the next day when you have to go to classes looking like that." Hermione relished in the thought of an enraged and embarrassed Lavender looking like an red and green avocado for the rest of the day.

"At least mine will go away. Too bad for you—dirty blood never does, does it?" Lavender gave Hermione her cruelest smile before walking into the bathroom.

Hermione was glad that she shut the door. The tears that poured down her face were one defeat that she did not want Lavender to see.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Two: What Is This Feeling?

_GLINDA:_

_(spoken) Dearest darlingest Momsie and Popsicle:_

_ELPHABA:_

_(spoken) My dear Father:_

_BOTH:_

_There's been some confusion_

_Over rooming here at Shiz:_

_ELPHABA:_

_But of course, I'll care for Nessa:_

_GLINDA:_

_But of course, I'll rise above it:_

_BOTH:_

_For I know that's how you'd want me to respond_

_(Spoken:) Yes_

_There's been some confusion_

_For you see, my roommate is:_

_GLINDA:_

_Unusually and exceedingly peculiar_

_And altogether quite impossible to describe:_

_ELPHABA:_

_Blonde._

Five years later and Lavender Brown still had a hard time pretending that she lived in the girls' dormitory every time she visited Audrey, Elizabeth, and her BFF forever, Parvati. The girls lounged comfortably on their four-posters beds, but Lavender still always felt out of place. Not that that room that she shared with _it_ was exactly comfortable either though.

Which was why she relished these once a month slumber parties with the girls. Lavender was the queen of the school, but living in a separate room than the girls could sometimes severely stunt her social status, especially when something funny happened and the other three had an inside joke, while she was on the outside. That's why, once a month, Lavender was on top of her game. She had to remind the girls who ruled the school so she saved her best gossip, compliments, and insults for this night. Everything had to be perfect or everything could fall apart.

Of course, she could technically invite the girls over to her room for a sleepover, but with it there, she didn't want to risk it. It was foul, nasty, rude, and just something to be generally ignored. Except on two occasions: when they were torturing her, or pranking her. And on the extremely rare occasion something interesting or embarrassing happened to her, gossiping about her.

And the sleepover just happened to coincide with the hottest piece of high society news that happened to pertain to her: Hermione Granger.

"So, have you heard the news yet?" Lavender raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows inquisitively.

"You know that we never hear anything, Lavender!" Parvati moaned. "We are gossip clueless when it comes to high society."

"Then you'd better study up because we are the next generation of society girls," Lavender laughed. "This, surprisingly enough, has to do with the family of the only non-society girl here,"

"The ugly duckling?" Audrey snorted. "Barely anything happens to her. It's always her mother."

"You're only partially right in this case. But listen up, anyways. So… have you ever wondered why little miss half blood is still here?" Lavender asked.

"Yeah, actually," Elizabeth said, her eyebrows furrowed. "Why is she still here? Wasn't there like a law last summer saying that HBs were banned from school or something like that?"

Lavender had started a new fad recently in the school. She had heard her father refer to half bloods as HBs and Muggle borns as MBs and the abbreviation had just caught on. It was so tiring and stupid to say something as long as "half blood" or "Muggle born" anyways when they were so insignificant, that she really shouldn't be wasting her breath on their proper titles.

"Not that there were tons of HBs to start with; only little Ms. Granger in our year, I believe." She lifted a chocolate covered strawberry and took a bite. "Well, you'll never guess what happened—Elaine Granger _divorced_ her Muggle husband and went back to the Malfoy family!"

Everyone's jaw dropped. "No way…" Parvati said, awestruck.

"I know! Insane, isn't it? That's how the shrew got to stay in Hogwarts, granddaddy Malfoy must have pulled some strings to get her to stay."

"But why would he do that for her? She's just a dirty blood," Audrey asked.

"Well, as soon as the divorce papers came through, it was revealed that Elaine was having an affair with some foreign pure blood. Here is the crazy part—they had a _son_!"

"No! Wouldn't her husband find out? As dull as Muggles are, they do notice those sort of things," Elizabeth noted.

"I heard all the gory details from my mother who got it from Elaine herself. So, apparently when Elaine, her husband and that werewolf they live with went on vacation to France, Elaine met and slept with a pureblood wizard there. She got pregnant, so she and the werewolf got the husband ridiculously drunk and passed him off to a prostitute and picked him up in the morning. The fool obviously remembered that he'd dipped his wick in something that night, so it was no surprise when five weeks later Elaine announces that she's pregnant!"

"This is better than reading _Witch Weekly_!" Parvati squealed.

"She convinces her husband to let them stay in France for the remainder of the pregnancy, and the night she goes into labor the werewolf takes her husband to a bar and gives him fire whiskey! A Muggle! Drinking fire whiskey!" She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. "The pig got drunk off his ass while his wife gave birth to her lover's child and passed the child off to the lover for safe-keeping! She then told her husband that the child died during childbirth and used that excuse to divorce him, citing that 'the death of our newborn has left a gap in our marriage so large that nothing can be done to repair it.' It was done with much drama. The three months later, she's married to the pureblood wizard and back in the good graces of the Malfoys!"

"That's absolutely insane!" Parvati screamed. "NO WAY!"

"I haven't even told you the best part yet!" Lavender said excitedly. "You know the werewolf? His name is Remus Lupin and he's rather famous—he went to school with Harry's dad James and his godfather, Sirius Black and he's so rebel! Not to mention extremely dreamy, so I really can't blame her for having an affair with him…"

"She's sleeping with a WEREWOLF?" Parvati, Audrey, and Elizabeth yelled simultaneously.

"I know!" Lavender said. "I admire her all the more for it though, you know. That courage and cunning! She's the epitome of who I want to be when I grow up."

"Me too!" Parvati gushed. "I think that we should keep this piece of gossip our little secret. We don't want Elaine's good name to be further besmirched by this interesting little piece of news. She is, after our idol."

The other girls nodded vigorously. "Let's keep this under wraps. Besides, we don't want anyone knowing that Hermione actually has an interesting family. People might actually think that she's _acceptable_." Lavender shuddered.

"Her sister, Rose, isn't too bad," Audrey said thoughtfully. "She's in that awful wheelchair of course, but she's normal-ish. Or she would be if she didn't hang out with her sister all the time."

"She's a good little Ravenclaw. A bit OCD about some things but bookish to the end. Nothing that abnormal." Lavender waved it off. "And her other pureblood brother, Killian, is only like two years old right? What I just told you is old news finally brought up for some air," Lavender informed them.

"What a weird family," Parvati reflected. "It would be so surreal for me if I was Elaine. Imagine having a Muggle ex-husband, a werewolf lover, and a pureblood husband. And from that you get a half blood daughter, a who-knows what daughter and a pureblood son."

"What if Rose was Remus' daughter?" Elizabeth asked. "It's certainly possible."

"How could they carry on an affair when they're all living under one roof in a three-bedroom house in the werewolf slums? With two children," Audrey said.

"I won't even go into the kinky details of how they could do it!" Parvati said wickedly and grinned.

"Eww! Parvati!" Lavender tossed a pillow at her playfully. "Well they can't do anything about Rose. She's like Harry, they don't know whether she's a half blood, pureblood, Muggle born."

"I thought Harry was a half blood though," Audrey frowned. "Wasn't his mother a Muggle born?"

"They aren't sure anymore," Elizabeth answered. "They've been interrogating the sister and they think that they've found new evidence that suggests Lily might have been a pureblood. Turns out that the Evans family has a history of sketchiness when it comes to turning out witches and wizards. There are Squibs here and there. Lucky for Harry, they don't know yet," she said this in a low voice, her face serious.

"There's been talk of Death Eaters trying to resurrect You-Know-Who, which means…"

"Harry's dead if they ever do… Oh! Poor Harry!" Lavender moaned. "He's so sweet too!"

"I know! Isn't that such a tragedy? Thankfully they haven't figured out how to do it," Elizabeth said, obviously relieved.

"Yeah, thank God, huh? Because if they murdered him then you wouldn't have anyone to go with to the ball, huh?" Lavender teased her.

"Oh! Stop it!" Elizabeth said sadly. "He's only going with me because Ginny is too young."

"You never know, he might fall hopelessly in love with you!" Parvati said in a singsong voice.

"Oh! You guys!" Elizabeth said exasperatingly.

Lavender smiled slyly. She was back on top.

* * *

Thump. Thump. Thump.

They were jumping on the beds again but Hermione didn't even look up from her book. Lavender was gone for the night so she had decided to tackle Practical Defense Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts that night and maybe even A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions if she had the time. It was nearly impossible to get any reading done while Lavender was in here, usually squealing, whining or complaining about something. And on the rare occasions Lavender was not in the room, she was usually banging on the portrait, demanding that Hermione let her in. The little blonde bubblehead was hopeless at answering the riddles the portrait posed and for the past five years. Hermione thought that it was rather pathetic really—a Sixth year who couldn't answer a simple riddle.

The worst was when Lavender would drag her latest conquest into the room for a bout of snogging. When that happened, Hermione was forced out into the common room where she got to fully appreciate her ostracism from the rest of Gryffindor. Thankfully that had only happened twice before Hermione had hexed them both from the room.

But really, compared to the rest of her life, her social life was just a small blip on the radar. She was expecting to get expelled from Hogwarts any day soon, she was practically waiting for Rose to commit suicide, her mother was practically _asking_ to be murdered with carrying on an affair with Remus behind what's-his-name's back and Mark was fooling around with the Resistance and the Death Eaters, when he really should be in hiding, because technically, _he didn't exist!_

It was really no surprise that her grandfather's owl chose to arrive at that particular moment when Hermione was really starting to freak out. She jumped up to snatch the letter away before the wretched bird tried to pull out her hair again.

She was glad that she had the approval of the old man. He was bright, intelligent, extremely cunning, yet he also had a soft side that he rarely let show. Hermione had met him for the first time after the divorce and rather than let herself be cowed by the fearsome patriarch, she had marched right up to him and introduced herself. He had taken a liking to her after that, sending her books and fund money for her experiments, something that infuriated Rose to no end.

But that was one area in which Hermione completely ignored her sister. She was going to become a Ministry official no matter what. She was going to show the Minister wrong. She was as good as any pureblood, maybe even better. And no matter how clichéd it sounded, it was time for them to let her people go.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Three: The Wizard and I_

_MADAME MORRIBLE:_

_(spoken)_

_Oh, Miss Elphaba_

_(sung/spoken)_

_Many years I have waited_

_For a gift like yours to appear_

_Why, I predict the Wizard_

_Could make you his_

_Magic grand vizier!_

_My dear, my dear_

_I'll write at once to the Wizard_

_Tell him of you in advance_

_With a talent like yours, dear_

_There is a defint-ish chance_

_If you work as you should_

_You'll be making good._

_ELPHABA:_

_Once I'm with the Wizard_

_My whole life will change_

_'Cuz once you're with the Wizard_

_No one thinks you're strange!_

_No father is not proud of you,_

_No sister acts ashamed_

_And all of Oz has to love you_

_When by the Wizard, you're acclaimed_

_And this gift or this curse_

_I have inside_

_Maybe at last, I'll know why_

_When we are hand and hand -_

_The Wizard and I! _

"Ms. Granger!" A simpering voice called out. Hermione looked around alarmed. If she could escape the toad woman, she would. Her hand closed protectively around her amulet. Umbridge had tried to rip it from her neck on more than one occasion.

"Yes, Professor Umbridge?" she said in a tired voice. The woman had a particularly nasty look on her face, like she had swallowed some soured old milk.

"I wish to have a word with you in my office."

"Of course, Professor," Hermione said in monotone. She heaved her book bag up on her shoulder and sighed.

"Lavender," she called out to her roommate.

"What, freak?" she sneered.

"Tell Flitwick I'm going to be late. Professor Umbridge wants a word."

"Fine. I'll try to see if I remember." The blonde flipped her hair once before going back to her conversation with Parvati.

She followed the toady woman to her lair, erm, _office,_ and took a seat in one of the overstuffed magenta-colored armchairs in front of her desk.

"Professor McGonagall and I have been looking over your transcripts from the past few years and your O.W.L. results and I must say, we are impressed. Your records show nothing but academic excellence in all your classes since your first year here," Professor Umbridge began after she had poured herself a cup of tea, not offering Hermione one.

"Thank you," Hermione said stiffly.

"Your grades are phenomenal. I don't think that I can stress that enough. Even though you are a half blood," she paused here to give Hermione a dirty look. "You are extraordinarily gifted and smart." She took a sip of her tea whilst surveying Hermione over the rim.

"You know that I am a talent scout for the Ministry." It was more of a statement than a question so Hermione remained silent.

"I look at all the students in Hogwarts and I personally handpick the best, the smartest, the elite. You, Ms. Granger are one of them. I have already sent in my personal letter of recommendation to the Minister for Magic, but because of your rather regrettable blood status, we need to push you harder to see if you're really up to the test."

"I am," Hermione answered firmly and quickly.

"Let's see your class schedule, shall we?" Umbridge opened up a drawer in her desk and got out a file with Hermione's name on it.

"You're taking more classes than any other Sixth year, I see. Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration. Eight extremely difficult and time demanding classes. You've even petitioned Professor McGonagall once to requisition a Time Turner so that you could also take the rest of the classes! But they turned you down, didn't they?" She smiled in mock sympathy. "Because you have dirty blood. That must've stung."

"I've dedicated myself to the pursuit of knowledge," Hermione said steadily, digging her nails into the arms of the armchair in anger.

"I wonder why you weren't put into Ravenclaw then."

"The Sorting Hat knew I would need Gryffindor courage to prove prejudiced bigots such as you wrong."

"Very spirited of you to say so, even though I hold your future in my hands," Umbridge said with a patronizing smile.

"A caged lion, although caged, will attack when its keeper is foolish enough to come in," Hermione countered.

Umbridge leaned back in her chair and stared her down.

"I hope you know that I am not doing this because I like you, Ms. Granger. In fact, I detest you, and if I had my way you would've left this school the day you arrived. You and your filthy blood are my life's vexation. You're nothing but trouble. You're angry, bitter and anti-social. The only people who I've spoken to who have had a kind word to say about you are two stoners I found smashed in the dungeons!"

Hermione had to bite down a laugh. She was guessing that Malfoy and Zabini had put on quite a show for the toad.

"You constantly provoke your roommate, Ms. Brown, who is a perfectly respectable lady! My point is, Ms. Granger, is that my job is to report people to the Ministry who have the best grades and the best academic performance of their year. I am also to report people with unusual amounts of power. You are qualify in all the above. If it weren't for your blood, they would've hired you years ago."

"Thank you. In your own twisted way, that was nearly a compliment." Hermione could barely keep the venom out of her voice.

"My only question is: why do you do it?"

Hermione took a deep breath. There were so many things she could say. So many answers to that one little loaded question. She exhaled. 'Keep it simple, stupid,' she reminded herself.

"This is what I want. I want to be with the Ministry."

"Very well then. Your schedule will change, effective next Monday. You will be taking all the same classes you are now, except with the Seventh years. Keep up, or throw your dreams out the window." She gave Hermione a stern look. "Screw up and not even your grandfather can keep you in this school."

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," Hermione said dully as she got up from her seat.

"You have the rest of the week off to prepare for your new schedule. I would use your time wisely."

"Thank you, Professor Umbridge," she chanted once again before leaving the toad's office as fast as she could.

Hermione couldn't keep the smile off her face even as she sat down in Flitwick's class next to Malfoy. She was pretty sure that the bastard was only nice to her because they were related—he usually didn't give a toss about MBs and HBs—but it was nice of him to say a nice word about her to Umbridge. Him and Zabini were her closest things to friends at Hogwarts. They didn't hang out exclusively though. Malfoy and Zabini were so popular they could be friends with anyone, but they had a bit of camaraderie that meant they stuck together. As Zabini had so elegantly put it, "Who needs friendship when you can so wittingly provide me with the painful truth and biting sarcasm? No one else can provide me with that, Granger."

"You're late, Granger," Malfoy said simply and pushed his notes towards her before taking them back.

She bit down a laugh. He always offered her his notes before remembering she never needed them. "What if I needed them?" she whispered back.

"You never do; you're light years ahead of us and you know it. You could probably give this lecture."

"You're right," she said with a smirk. "Which might be why I'm going to take Seventh year courses _this_ year."

"You've got to be kidding me," Malfoy said, disgusted. "Can't you just be normal for once? Screw them. You know what people are going to say now?"

"I didn't exactly beg for this," she told him. "I'll tell you after class, because unlike me, you actually need to pay attention."

* * *

"WHY NOT?"

Lavender was in Professor Umbridge's office and she was seething.

"Your grades are excellent, Ms. Brown. It's just that you've never shown that much drive towards the academic realm," Professor Umbridge answered, infuriatingly calm.

"I'm just as smart as she is!" Lavender shrieked. She began to pace back and forth. "I take almost all the same classes as she does—I'm not an idiot!"

"Well you've certainly acted like one." Professor Umbridge put her teacup down. "Ms. Brown, I do not doubt your intelligence, just your determination and commitment."

"I've got plenty of determination! Do you not hear me yelling?" Lavender screamed.

"I don't want to hear you, I want to _see_ you! When you can prove that you are worthy of taking advanced classes like Ms. Granger, then I will review your request."

Lavender was shocked. Since when had Umbridge begun acting like McGonagall?

"Fine." She turned to make her dramatic exit, but Umbridge stopped her.

"I'm curious, Ms. Brown, why do you want to do this?"

"Because I need to be the best. I won't come second to a half-blood bitch." She stormed out the room and slammed the door behind her. _'Quite the dramatic exit!'_ she congratulated herself, before remembering she was supposed to be furious, and stomped down the hallways to extract her revenge on the infuriating Hermione Granger.

* * *

Lavender was happy to find that Hermione wasn't in their room yet. She hadn't yet formulated her revenge, and an empty room offered many possibilities. However, the portrait was being especially difficult.

Iris fanned herself, and said loftily, "Any day now, dear."

Lavender sighed and slowly slid down the wall. "Could you say it again?"

"At night they come without being fetched. By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?"

"The stars."

Lavender looked up. Towering above her was the six-foot tall body of the gorgeous Ron Weasley. Absolutely endearing in every way, Lavender had had a crush on him for as long as she could remember. He wasn't unapproachable like Harry was, and unlike Harry, he was more often liked than not.

"Finally," Jane sighed and swung open.

"Thanks," Lavender groaned. "I'm absolutely hopeless at riddles! How did you know the answer?"

"I got my mum a riddle-a-day calendar for Christmas one year. She'll include one or two in her letters sometimes." He smiled and Lavender wanted to melt. No, she wanted _him!_

"I've always wanted to see the inside of your place," he confessed bashfully.

Lavender perked up. It was like he was reading her mind! "Come on in! Take a look." He offered her his hand and she took it to help herself up.

He let her go in first before he followed her in.

"Wow, that's…interesting."

She knew what he meant—the room was a disaster. As a "bonding exercise" suggested by Professor McGonagall in their fourth year, they got to redecorate their room. As a result, a thick black line ran down the middle of the room separating their sides.

Hermione's side was painted a dull gray with black stars of different shapes and sizes here and there. There was barely room to walk on her side; bookcases and books took over most of the space on her floors, walls and even her bed. Her comforter cover was black and her sheets were coffee ground brown. Her side was pleasing, but in a bland, impersonal sort of way. At least everything on her side was immaculately neat and organized unlike Lavender's though.

Lavender's side was painted a shocking orange with a white comforter. And if that wasn't a big enough contrast to Hermione's side, there were clothes strewn everywhere. There were pictures of her and her friends, her family and little knickknacks littered everywhere. The overall effect was shocking.

"It's nothing too special, but at least we got to decorate it." Lavender giggled. "I know, I know! I'm just glad they didn't make us decorate the bathroom too! That might have been too much to handle."

"Definitely," Ron agreed.

"Now you know why I never invite anyone to my room," Lavender blushed. "Well, this and… Hermione."

Ron winced. "Oh yeah, I forgot about what happened to Dean." He looked around frantically. "She's not here now, is she?"

They both broke out laughing. Lavender said, "Thankfully, she's off lurking somewhere else. I don't even want to think what she'd do to you if she saw you in here."

"Me neither," Ron admitted. There was silence for a few seconds before Lavender said hurriedly, "Why don't you sit down on the bed? I'm sure I can find some biscuits somewhere to munch on before the shrew gets back."

"Why is she so bad tempered?" Ron asked as he pushed some of Lavender's clothes off the bed and onto the floor.

"Sexual frustration would be my first guess," Lavender said and Ron let out a laugh.

"I can definitely see how that could make someone grumpy," he said. "But couldn't she fix herself up or something? Find a guy who's willing to risk a few snaps for some erm… gratification?"

"If she was interested in guys I think she would," Lavender said. "Ah! Found them!" She brandished the packet triumphantly.

"You mean… you think she swings the other way?" Ron asked, astonished.

"She's friends with Malfoy and Zabini, and no matter how odd those two may act sometimes, they are red-blooded males and they seem to tolerate her to the point of friendship… if she was interested she would have made a move already on Zabini because she's related to Malfoy." She stopped talking long enough to pile the biscuits on a plate and to sit down next to Ron on the bed.

"Oh, yeah," Ron said. "Doesn't that creep you out, though? Sleeping in the same room as her knowing that..." He shuddered.

"To be perfectly honest, she creeped me out far before I suspected she was a lesbian," Lavender said dryly.

Ron laughed again. "You're much funnier than Dean gives you credit for," he said.

"I'm not with Dean." Lavender had a hard time keeping her voice from being breathy. She wanted to sound in control! Not desperate!

"Thank God." A sharp, crisp voice ruined the moment so perfectly that Lavender thought that no one else could've killed it better.

Hermione stood in the doorway, torn between looking amused and mad.

"I guess I'll go then," Ron mumbled, blushing red to the tips of his ears. "Bye, Lavender. Hermione."

"Bye, Weasley," she said, clearly over the moon about something.

As soon as Ron was out of the room, Lavender snapped, "What are you so happy about?"

"Oh, nothing!" Hermione said happily and ensconced herself among her pillows on her bed.

"What did Umbridge want?" Lavender asked.

"Oh… I'm taking Seventh year classes starting next week," Hermione said nonchalantly, but with a huge smile on her face.

"Congratulations," Lavender said tonelessly. Inside, she was furious! She needed a way to get back at the dream-snatcher before she lost her temper.

"So, what did the Weasel want?" Hermione asked. "He looked awfully flushed when he left."

It was like God was smiling on Lavender today, telling her that yes! Opportunities to completely ruin Hermione Granger's life _did_ come on days like these!

"He was looking for you, actually," Lavender said, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

"Why didn't he talk to me then when he left?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Isn't is obvious?" When Hermione didn't answer, Lavender said, "He has a crush on you, dimwit."

"Oh." That one word was enough for Lavender to hear the slight pleasure and embarrassment in her voice.

"Yeah, awkward, huh?"

"Yeah," Hermione said softly. "I just don't—"

Lavender cut her off. "Have any experience with boys?"

Hermione nodded.

"Don't worry, I'll take pity on you. Well the first thing to do is to let him know that you like him back! In fact, why don't you sit next to him during Potions tomorrow?"

"And that will tell him that I like him?" Hermione asked faintly.

"Well, no silly! That's just setting the foundation." Lavender turned away and pretended to busy herself with cleaning up the biscuits to hide her evil smile from Hermione.

"I don't have class with you guys for the rest of the week, but I suppose I can go to one more day of lessons…" Hermione trailed off.

"Perfect," Lavender said cheerily, before adding nastily, "Maybe you'll suddenly decide to become normal after all."

"And maybe hell will freeze over and you'll stop being a bitch!"

An owl tapped at the window interrupting the brewing fight. It was on Lavender's side, and seeing that it was for Hermione, Lavender got up with a sigh and went over to the window to open it.

"Can't your bloody bird come at a normal hour?" she whined. The bird flew over to Hermione, who quickly detached the letter and sent the bird on its way. Lavender laid back on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

"Some things can't wait until morning," Hermione said with an acid tone to her voice.

"Yes, because you are just oh so important! You and your grand total of TWO friends."

Lavender waited for a response and hearing none rolled over onto her stomach to watch Hermione. Her face was oddly pale and frozen. It was paler than usual and her body quivered.

"What no witty comeback?" Lavender attempted to break the uncomfortable spell. "Probably because it's true, huh?"

After a long pause and a deep breath, Hermione said, "Maybe so. But at least I'm the one being recommended to the Ministry." She got up from her bed and walked briskly to the door before Lavender could say another word.

* * *

"Rose!" Hermione called through the door to the Ravenclaw common room. "I know you can hear me! Open up! This is important!"

The door to the Ravenclaw common room opened and Rose's irate head popped out.

"Can't you see you're embarrassing me?" she hissed. "Couldn't this wait until morning?"

"Mum's dead." Hermione decided to cut the chase and get to the point. Bluntness worked better on Rose than trying to soften the truth. If you tried to make it easier on her, the wimpier she got and the more she cried.

Rose's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly, before her features twisted up completely with a frown.

"Don't joke about a thing like that!" Rose cried.

"I'm not joking, Rose! Here's the letter!" Hermione said bitterly as she thrust the parchment under her sister's nose for her to read.

"The funeral is next week," she said stiffly.

Rose read the letter and burst into tears. Hermione didn't wait for them to subside before saying, "Remus is going to come get you tomorrow, so get packed."

"Wait, aren't you going?" Rose sniffled.

"I can't. I start my Seventh year classes Monday."

"Isn't our mother's funeral more important than some dumb classes?" Rose sobbed harder now.

"No, of course not," Hermione soothed. "But, Rose, this is my only chance. If I don't get an "O" in these classes I'll never be able to work for the Ministry, or be someone,"

"You are already someone!" Rose protested.

"SOMEONE IMPORTANT!" Hermione exploded. "Doesn't it ever bother you, Rose, that we are less than them? That we're less than them because of something that we can't change? But if I slit my wrists, Rose, and died right here, I can assure you that my blood would be the same color as theirs! I bleed, I cry, I long, I feel just like they do, and yet they get to be SOMEONE while I'll sit here and be NO ONE because of something that I can't control! Rose," her voice got softer. "Mum would understand. She always wanted the best for us; that's why she divorced Daddy and went back to the Malfoys. She wanted us to have the best in life, to be able to go to Hogwarts. If I don't attend those classes, I'll be throwing her death back in her face, Rose. Because you know he killed her."

Rose gasped and cried harder than ever. "I know, I know, Hermione! I'm scared! I don't want to go alone!"

Hermione shushed her and took her sister's hands in her own. "You won't be alone, Remus will be there with you, don't worry."

"I want you," Rose sniffled.

"I need to help myself before I can help you, Rose. I want to, but I can't. I'm not strong enough." Hermione's voice nearly cracked, but she didn't shed a tear.

"That's why we're not going to tell anyone."

"What? We're not going to tell anyone?" Rose was shocked.

"No, we're going to pretend like this never happened. If anyone asks where you went, I'm going to tell them that you went in for treatment."

"But, but... Hermione, that's a lie! They're going to find out!"

"Anything's better than having them look at me and go, 'Oh, look, there's that weird girl, Hermione. Did you know that her slut of a mother just died?'" Her voice became harsh and brutal.

Rose was in hysterics now. "Take it back, Hermione! Take it back!"

"No!" she snapped. "The last thing I need and want now, is sympathy." She got up from where she was kneeling on the ground.

"Remus is coming tomorrow at eight. You'd better be ready by then," she said coldly. "Sorry I embarrassed you. You should probably get back to your friends now."

Rose whimpered and nodded weakly before wheeling around.

"Oh, and Rose?"

Rose stopped. "Yes?"

"Tell her goodbye for me. Tell her that I love her and—"

"And?"

"Thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Four: Something Bad, Part One

_DOCTOR DILLAMOND_

_(spoken) Oh, Miss Elphaba - The things one hears these_

_days. Dreadful things:_

_(sung) I've heard of an Ox,_

_A professor from Quox_

_No longer permitted to teach_

_Who has lost all powers of speech_

_And an Owl in Munchkin Rock_

_A vicar with a thriving flock_

_Forbidden to preach_

_Now he can only screech!_

_Only rumors - but still -_

_Enough to give pause_

_To anyone with paws_

_Something bad is happening in Oz:_

_ELPHABA_

_Something bad? Happening in Oz?_

_DILLAMOND_

_Under the surface_

_Behind the scenes_

_Something baaaaaaad:_

_(spoken) Sorry: "Bad":_

_ELPHABA(spoken) Doctor Dillamond - If something bad is happening_

_to the Animals, someone's got to tell the Wizard._

_That's why we have a Wizard._

_(sung) So nothing bad._

_DILLAMOND_

_(spoken) I hope you're right:_

_BOTH Nothing all that bad:_

_DILLAMOND_

_Nothing truly baaaaaad:._

_(spoken) Sorry: "Bad":_

_ELPHABA_

_It couldn't happen here_

_In Oz:_

* * *

_The next day…_

"So, you don't have classes today?" Lavender asked lightly.

"No," Hermione said from her bed where she was curled up with Advanced Arithmancy.

"What a shame…"

"I find that hard to believe," Hermione retorted.

"I wasn't talking about me, you idiot." She paused for dramatic effect.

"I was talking about Ron."

"So what?" Hermione turned the page of her book.

"Didn't we already go over this? I swear, for a freaky genius you are so DUMB!"

"Said the blonde," Hermione remarked dryly.

Lavender's hand went automatically to her hair and she stroked her blonde curls protectively.

"He'll notice if you don't come to class," Lavender decided to let the jibe go in the interest of payback.

"Are you serious?" Hermione finally looked up from her book and fixed an incredulous look on Lavender.

"He's crazy about you, Hermione. How many times do I have to tell you?" Lavender stood up from her vanity table and picked up her book bag. She gave a huge, theatrical sigh and said, "I normally don't do this, you being all, _ugh_ and everything, but I do help the boy-clueless occasionally. Try sitting next to him in Potions today. Oh, and here, wear a bit of this." She rummaged in her book bag and produced a small bottle of what looked like perfume. Lavender had to congratulate herself. It had taken her the better part of an hour to convince little Colin Creevey to go out and collect the sneezewort she used to make the perfume, but it was totally worth it. The perfume caused everyone to start sneezing uncontrollably and the effects could last for two to three days.

"Thanks," Hermione said, suspiciously.

"My limit is now up for my random acts of kindness today," Lavender warned her. "I am in no way obligated to be nice to you at all today." And with that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the dormitory for her famous dramatic exit.

After she left, Hermione put down her book and sniffed the perfume carefully. She sneezed violently again and again. After she had cleared her head, Hermione tried to analyze what she had just smelled. It was a rather peculiar scent and it triggered an alarm in Hermione's head. And Lavender's unusual concern, perturbed her slightly too. She gave a huge sniff and she suddenly realized what the smell was—sneezewort!

"That little bitch!" Hermione cursed. This called for some revenge. She looked around and spotted Lavender's real perfume bottle on the desk. The witch would probably recognize it right away if Hermione simply switched the perfumes, so she would have to be sneakier about the switch.

She got up from her bed and crossed over to Lavender's side. They both had put wards up on their sides of the room, but Lavender's was easily broken. Not that Hermione really liked going on Lavender's side of the room—it gave her the creeps. But this was business, so she concentrated all her efforts on the perfume switch.

Thankfully, the bottle had never been opened so she wouldn't have to guess how much was left after she had, erm, _modified_ it. She poured the real perfume into a conjured bowl and poured half the sneezewort into the bottle. Hermione then poured some rose oil into the perfume so the bottle was three-fourths full. The rose oil would mask the sneezing side effect of the perfume for about twenty-four hours then the sneezing property would double in power and cause frenzied sneezing for an entire week! She filled the bottle up to the top with the real perfume and resealed the bottle with her wand. The real perfume and bowl was vanished and the rest of the sneezewort perfume bottle was conveniently smashed against the bathroom wall when Hermione "tripped" on the bath rug.

Hermione smiled deviously when she saw the innocent-looking perfume bottle sitting on Lavender's desk when she left the room for the Potions class.

Revenge was so much sweeter served red-hot.

* * *

But an hour later, Hermione was sprinting out of the Potions classroom with tears streaming down her face. She had never been more embarrassed in her entire life. She ran down to Hagrid's hut with tears in her eyes, hoping to find some sympathy from the friendly gamekeeper, but to her dismay, he was out doing _something_. Not feeding the Thestrals or in Hogsmeade, but out doing _something_ and no matter how much she asked the pudgy, round-faced boy sitting next to her on the steps to Hagrid's hut, he would not, or could not elaborate.

Hermione was feeling very tetchy. She didn't want this _thing_ to touch her. She could sense that it was very unintelligent, dirty and sticky and if there were three adjectives Hermione hated more than Lavender, it was those three. She had always associated them with children and therefore it was very disconcerting when they were emanating from a boy her age.

His name was Neville Longbottom, and other than displaying the three aforementioned adjectives, he was also a very touchy-feely, courteous gentleman who unfortunately felt that it was his duty to stay and comfort her, no matter how much Hermione longed for him to leave.

"You don't have to stay," Hermione said stiffly. "Actually, it would be fantastic if you would leave. Now."

"But, you're crying," Neville protested.

"I'm fine." Hermione tried to glare, but it came out all watery.

"No, you aren't," Neville said right back, but he seemed a little nervous from being so close to the infamous wicked witch of Gryffindor.

"You're bringing this upon yourself," Hermione said tartly. "You're going to be ridiculed, exiled, hated for this."

"For this?" Neville looked confused.

"Are you stupid or something?" Hermione demanded. "No one likes me, and therefore they'll think that you're daft for trying to help me."

"No they won't," Neville tried to scoff, but he was cut off by a severe look from Hermione.

"Yes, Neville, they will."

"I'm not afraid." He raised his chin defiantly.

"Yes, you are," Hermione sighed, and all the fight seemed to go out from her. "You all are."

Neville didn't seem to be able to answer and so he remained silent. He fidgeted with tie for a while before asking uncomfortably, "So… Um, do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Hermione said immediately. She lay back against the stairs and looked up at the sky.

"Are you sure? It helps, sometimes," he said awkwardly.

"Not with me," Hermione said calmly.

"How can you be so sure?" Neville asked.

"When I confess my feelings, they are always used against me," Hermione said surely, as if stating a fact.

"Oh," Neville said uneasily. There was a pause.

"I won't tell anyone," he said shyly.

Hermione turned her head to look at him. "Thanks." The biting sarcasm was lost on Neville.

"So, do you want to talk about it?" he asked again.

There was another long silence before,

"Did your mom ever read you the story, The Wizard of Oz?"

Neville shook his head. "No. What is it?"

"It's this book by a Muggle, Frank L. Baum. It's pretty good for a Muggle fairytale. Remus used to read it to me all the time."

"Was Remus your dad?"

"No. He was my mother's lover."

"Oh. So, what about it?"

"It's about this girl, Dorothy. She's this poor, lonely farm girl from America who lives in this boring little town in this place called Kansas with her Auntie Em and Uncle Henry. She had this horrible little dog named Toto, who her equally horrible neighbor hated, so she decides to run away. But she gets hit on the head and instead she has this fantastic daydream.

"A tornado carries her house "over the rainbow" and into this magical land of Oz. Well, when she lands, she kind of squashes the Wicked Witch of the East. And they're all celebrating the wicked witch's death when Glinda, the Good Witch, comes. Dorothy tells her that she really wants to go home, so Glinda tells her to put on the wicked witch's sparkly shoes and follow the yellow brick to the Emerald City to go meet the Wizard of Oz. So she and her stupid little dog follow the road to the Emerald City. And on the way she meets the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Man, and the Scarecrow. The Cowardly Lion really wants courage, the Tin Man wants a heart and the Scarecrow wants some brains, so they decide to travel to the Emerald City together to go see the Wizard of Oz.

"A bunch of things happen, but to make a long story short, they make it to the City. Except there's a catch—the Emerald City isn't really green, it's only green because all the citizen's are made to wear green-tinted glasses and the Wizard will only give them what they want if they go kill the Wicked Witch of the East's sister, the Wicked Witch of the West.

"So, some things happen, and Dorothy throws a bucket of water on the Witch and she melts and dies, so they go to the Wizard to claim their prize. The Cowardly Lion gets his "courage," the Tin Man gets his "heart," and the Scarecrow gets his "brains." Everyone's happy. Except Dorothy."

"Why?" Neville asked. He had been silent throughout the entire story.

"Because the Wizard wasn't a real Wizard. He was an imposter." Hermione sighed and stared at the sky again.

"But I thought you said that the other people got what they wanted. Why not Dorothy?"

"Because what Dorothy wanted was real. The Wizard had tricked the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow into believing that they really had courage, brains, and a heart. By making them believe that he had cured them, they really did get what they wanted. But Dorothy didn't want to be tricked. All she wanted was to get home."

"So what happens?" Neville asked.

"She clicks her sparkly shoes together three times and goes home." Hermione smiled blissfully.

"Too bad I don't have any magical shoes, huh?"

"Uh, yeah… Sorry, but I don't get it. What has that story have to do with anything?"

"I'm the Scarecrow, Neville. I've been tricked into thinking that I had a heart, when all along I was really Dorothy missing her sparkly shoes."

"Oh! I get it!" Neville looked gleeful at this revelation for a moment before sobering up. "So, who's the Wizard?"

"Lavender," Hermione growled.

"Lavender did that?" Neville looked surprised.

"Don't act so surprised," Hermione snorted. "You'll make me laugh."

"She couldn't have done something that mean," Neville protested.

"Yes, she could, would, and did," Hermione said. "Why are you so in denial?"

"Well, that makes me the Scarecrow then," Neville said dejectedly.

"Why?" Hermione queried.

"Well, um… I don't know how to say this but IthinkthatIfancyLavender."

"Repeat. Slowly," Hermione said.

"I fancy Lavender," Neville squeaked. When Hermione laughed, he begged, "Please, don't tell anyone!"

"I won't," Hermione assured him. "I'm not as half as evil as you all think I am."

"No, you just act like it," Neville muttered and to his utmost surprise, she laughed.

"Maybe I do," she conceded.

"So what else happened?" Neville asked.

"What do you mean 'what else happened?' Lavender humiliated me. That's it."

"No, that's not all of it, I know. You're pretty infamous for not ever backing down… or crying… or ever showing any emotion. Why did she get to you?"

"This week has been tough," Hermione admitted grudgingly.

"Tell me," Neville insisted. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"Well, for starters, my mother died," Hermione said tartly.

Neville gasped. "That's horrible! I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, you know? I was kind of expecting it." She gave a half-smile and shrugged.

"What was her name?" Neville asked.

"Elaine," Hermione said. "Pretty, isn't it? Everyone in my family but me got a normal name. Richard, Elaine, Rose, Killian, Mark. Remus and I are the ones who get the total nut-job names—"

"Elaine… Granger?" Neville asked slowly.

"Yeah."

"My mother used to talk to an Elaine Granger!" he said, a bit faster. "She lived down the road! She had two daughters before they moved! And my mother used to bring me over to play sometimes!"

"We used to play together?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah, weird, isn't it?"

"Very weird." Hermione sat up, wiped her eyes for a final time and got up.

"I'm going to go back up to the tower now. Everyone must be at lunch now, I'm going to sneak in while I can."

"Oh, okay," Neville said and got up too. "I'd better go to the greenhouses. I'm helping Professor Sprout."

"Okay." She turned to leave, then looked back quickly.

"Not a word of this to anyone, understand?" she snapped, and the difficult, prickly Hermione Granger was back.

"My lips are sealed," Neville promised her. As she marched back to the castle, Neville couldn't help but shake his head. The Wicked Witch of Hogwarts was back.


End file.
